The 221B Chronicles of Mollstrade
by PrairieLily
Summary: I am intrigued by the challenge of the 221B, so I'm giving it a go with my favourite character, Greg Lestrade, and my favourite pairing, Greg and Molly. In this particular collection, Mary is still alive and well and happily married to John, because I liked her, and I can ;) . I own none of these characters, no copyright infringement intended.
1. Chapter 1 Beamed

"Oh, Molly," Greg said, as he bumped into the pretty pathologist. He blushed slightly, momentarily at a loss for words.

"Greg," Molly replied, blushing a bit more blatantly. "What brings you here…"

"Oh… well, actually, I thought I might pop in for that post-mortem report on the Clarke case," Greg said, coughing lightly. He already had those results on his desk, he'd already reviewed them, in fact. But he'd just impulsively felt like stopping by to chat her up, without the foggiest idea what to use as a plausible excuse for doing so.

"Oh… I thought I faxed those over this morning?" Molly asked, curiously, hoping the handsome DI might have ulterior motives.

"Oh… well… you might have. Perhaps it didn't come through. Or maybe it was tossed by accident."

"Ah, well, in that case," Molly replied softly, "right this way then, Detective Inspector."

"Please," Greg smiled. "Call me Greg. No need for formalities here, really. There's nobody around to impress." _Except for_ you _, Molly Hooper_ , Greg thought to himself silently.

"I know you've a working understanding of this," Molly said a bit too casually, holding the report up for them both to read.

Molly smiled softly at him as she explained her findings, and at his deliberate nearness to her, and his hand absently resting on her back, she beamed.


	2. Chapter 2 Bit

"So… what were your plans this evening," Molly asked, as casually as she could manage. She gazed bashfully at the handsome silver-haired Yarder who stood before her in her lab.

"Nothing much going on, really," Greg replied. "Thought I might catch some footy on the telly, if I happen…" he said, catching her gaze and becoming a bit lost in it.

"Well," he finally said. "Football is… entertaining… but…"

Molly averted her eyes, attempting to avoid giggling at his sudden obvious distraction from his beloved televised football matches.

"Well I was wondering, if you might be interested, I mean if you're not working…" Molly hesitated.

"If you might like to grab a drink with me," she finally continued. "The game will be on the telly at the pub I'm sure, so you wouldn't have to MISS it, necessarily."

Greg thought on this only a very brief moment. "Yes, I think I'd like that very much," he admitted with a grin. "A beautiful lass, and a footy match. A perfect evening, I reckon."

Later, in the pub Molly and Greg had decided to meet at, they hunkered down at a corner table. The telly was in full view with the game broadcast in its fullest glory, but for some reason known only to him, Gregory Lestrade didn't notice it a single bit.


	3. Chapter 3 Bottle

"So," Greg said to Molly, gathering the findings she'd just given to him. "Since our date last night seemed to go so well, I was wondering if you might be interested in dinner?"

Molly felt a smile forming as she looked up at him, thinking about how they'd said goodbye the night before in her doorway.

"I'd love that very much," Molly replied brightly. "But how do you know our date went so well?"

Greg grinned at the cheeky sparkle in her eyes, raising his eyebrow in mischief.

"I believe there was a footy match on telly last night within eyeshot, and I have no idea who even won, because YOU, Molly Hooper," he said, bringing his hand up to give the underside of her chin a small tickle, "had my undivided attention. THAT'S how I know it was a good date." Greg's own dark eyes shone.

"Ah, I see then," she giggled. "So dinner then… where were you planning for this second date? Because I'm no slouch in the kitchen and I'd love to cook for us."

Greg nodded thoughtfully at this. Eating in at Molly's flat seemed quite appealing. "I think your place would be grand," he finally said, leaning down casually to kiss her lightly. "Shall I bring a bottle?"


	4. Chapter 4 Boy

"Keep them closed, now," Molly said, her voice full of excited anticipation. "NO peeking, Gregory Lestrade," she warned playfully.

Greg grinned, his eyes obediently kept shut. He wasn't sure which was more enjoyable – hearing Molly's enthusiasm at revealing her surprise, or the surprise itself.

Well, depending upon what it was, of course…

"Just out of curiosity, Molly… what exactly were you planning to do if I DID, say, happen to peek a little bit…?"

"You wouldn't DARE ruin something I've worked WEEKS on just for you, Detective Inspector?" she purred.

Greg chuckled at her tone. It was one he was becoming well familiar with as their first date had turned into several… and now they were most decidedly "an item."

Briefly, while he pondered what on earth it could possibly be that she had planned for his birthday, (beyond the obvious, which had been the centre of the previous night's "pre-birthday" festivities), a small subtle grin playing on the corners of his mouth.

"Are you ready, darling?" she asked mysteriously.

Smiling broadly now, he nodded.

At that, Greg swore he heard her purr.

Or… he heard SOMETHING purr.

Opening his eyes, they grew wide with shock as Molly presented him with a tiny silvery grey tabby kitten.

"Happy Birthday, darling… congratulations… it's a boy!"


	5. Chapter 5 Barnaby

Greg pulled the covers back carefully, so as not to disturb Molly in her slumber. Taking a deep breath, then moving as quietly as he could, he stretched his waking muscles as he stood.

He rubbed his face, scratching at his stubble, as he reached for his dressing gown and stepped into his slippers. Running his hand through his pillow-mussed, (and, frankly, Molly-mussed) hair, he glanced down, squinting at the carpet.

What the hell was that anyway?

Oh, no. Not again. Another one had bitten the dust, apparently.

Greg bent down, studying the bits of white fluff on the floor. Raising an eyebrow with an exasperated huff, he followed what was turning into a familiar trail of crumbs.

For as much as he loved the kitten Molly had given to him for his birthday, the young feline was at a stage where he would literally play with anything, and everything, with fierce glee and wanton destruction. Nothing was sacred - nothing at all.

"Bollocks," Greg muttered, frowning. "That was the last bloody one too." The small silver tabby gazed haughtily up at him as if to say, "What?", as he lounged in the midst of the fluffy, white, shredded ruins of what had been Greg's last roll of toilet paper.

He glared at the young feline. "Ah, damnit, Barnaby."


	6. Chapter 6 Barely

"Darling, you do realize that your cat outranks you?" Molly pointed out one evening, as she and Greg reclined on his sofa, the small silver tabby stretched out on her torso. The lanky half grown kitten purred in contentment, reflecting Molly's own current mood, sandwiched between what she called "two gorgeous silver-haired boys".

At this, Greg snorted and shook his head. Barnaby simply looked at her as if she were overstating the obvious.

"Of course he does. He already has a massive superiority complex, might as well validate it for him," Greg chuckled softly, reaching up to stroke the young animal under the chin.

"DCI Tom Barnaby," Molly mused. "I should have known you'd name this kitten after a fictional police detective."

"Well, love," Greg pointed out, "He's terribly curious. He won't take no for an answer. He's fearless and loves to stalk criminals. Well, in this case, mice and houseflies."

Molly giggled at this. "And toilet rolls. Why THAT particular detective though? There are several to choose from."

Greg sighed happily, bringing his hand up to rest on Molly's waist. "Well, if you remember, I was watching an episode of Midsomer Murders on telly when you showed up with him. Was the first detective name to come to mind."

"Oh I remember… barely!"


	7. Chapter 7 Boss

"Don't give me that look, Barnaby," Greg frowned. "It had to be done. I've told you from the start it had to be done."

The six month old cat glared fiercely at Greg, looking half stoned and half irretrievably pissed off.

"Look, do you want to be a Detective Chief Inspector on the side of the good, or do you want to be a Moriarty? Nothing but bad news, causing trouble and stink wherever you go?"

At this, the small cat meowed softly, before turning himself and lifting his leg high up in the air to show off what had been orchestrated by this tall human turncoat.

"Right then. I think you can probably be fed now," Greg finally said, shaking his head and heading into the kitchen. At the sound of the can opener, Barnaby suddenly perked up. Standing upright and stretching, he stiffly made his way over to where Greg stood at the counter.

"Tuna for you, Barnaby. People tuna, not that strange tinned wet cat food. I think you've earned a little treat." He smiled crookedly as blue eyes gazed up at him.

"Mrowr, prowwwwr," Barnaby replied sweetly, his hurt feeling (for Greg was positive his cat possessed only one feeling) seemingly forgotten.

Greg snickered and stroked the silky silver head. "Oh, I'm forgiven now, hey Little Boss?"


	8. Chapter 8 Blessed

"I'm knackered, Love," Greg said, apologetically. "We wrapped up two cases and thought we were ahead then the Bellamy case came up and everything went pear-shaped." He only just managed to shed his coat and suit jacket, and kick off his shoes, before collapsing on the sofa next to Molly.

"I know," she said, opening her arms for him to sink into. "I had two from the Bellamy case today as well," she soothed, as her arms tightened around him.

Greg sighed, grateful for the simple pleasures that shared domesticity with Molly afforded.

Greg turned his face up to look at her. "I love you, Molly Girl," he said, simply.

"I love you too, my gorgeous silver fox," she replied.

"Oh, I didn't mean YOU, little sod" she mumbled, as Barnaby chose the moment to jump up.

Greg took a deep breath, and let it out softly. Barnaby, it would seem, was still prone to showing up when he most needed the furry little bugger.

Molly kept her arms wrapped around Greg as Barnaby found a spot on Greg's chest. Snuzzling him, the young cat purred loudly, locking his intense, adoring gaze with that of his human's.

"I think we've got you covered," Molly said softly, kissing Greg's neck and stroking Barnaby.

Greg closed his eyes, and smiled, feeling quite blessed.


	9. Chapter 9 Breath

Molly clutched Barnaby close to her, waiting with fear in her heart.

When she heard the doorbell, she put the silver cat down gently. "I'll be back soon Barney, no worries," she said.

When she opened the door to find John Watson, the former army doctor wasted neither words, nor time, ushering her into Mrs. Hudson's car.

When they arrived at the hospital, they were met by Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson, who embraced the frightened pathologist with words of comfort. "No worries dear, he's fine. He simply MUST be. Nobody is more stubborn than Greg Lestrade."

"Except me," Sherlock said, placing his hand on her shoulder and smiling reassuringly.

"Well, our consulting git is stubborn, but I'm ornery, and so is Greg," John finally spoke. "He hasn't been this many years on the force without having a soldier's heart." John wrapped his arm around Molly's waist, leaning into her to reassure her. "I recognize a soldier's heart, Molly," he whispered, "Greg's got one."

Finally, the surgeon arrived.

"Dr. Lestrade," he asked. Molly nodded weakly.

"Your husband is stable. The impact broke four ribs, dislocated his shoulder, and his spleen needed to be removed. But he's in recovery. The child he jumped in front of has 'nary a scratch. Your Detective Inspector's a hero."

Relieved and grateful, Molly heaved a great breath.


	10. Chapter 10 Balance

"Gregory Lestrade, don't you DARE disturb that cat," Molly warned sternly.

"Molly, Love… I can't just lie here all day, and by the way I firmly object to the way you're using Barnaby, taking grievous advantage of the fact that he's a shameless suck who likes to sleep on top of me."

"Greg, my darling husband, you're recovering from broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and a splenectomy. I don't mean to sound crude, but darling, just calm your bloody tits."

Greg laughed out loud, immediately regretting it as pain shot through his chest. "Ohhhh, that's dirty pool. You did that on purpose Molly Lestrade. Making me laugh because you know it hurts like a bastard, just to remind me why I'm not supposed to be getting out of bed just yet."

Molly's expression softened. "Well, that wasn't QUITE my intention, but if that's how it's worked itself out, far be it for ME to argue." She went over to the sofa, where Greg was reclined with pillows and a light blanket, and curled up the floor next to him, leaning in close to him.

"Are you within kissing distance on purpose, perchance? Perhaps to apologize?" he murmured.

Molly laughed softly. "Apologize? Of course not, I've nothing to apologize for. However, if YOU'D like to apologize, I'd take a kiss to balance."


	11. Chapter 11 Better

"Oh, Greg," Molly crooned dreamily, "I'm so lucky to have you. You're so... sooooo damned… DISHY."

Molly suppressed a fit of coughing but failed to avoid the succession of sneezes.

"Yes, Love. So I've been told." Agreeing with his looped wife just seemed… easier at the moment.

"Oh, your mind, TOO," Molly said, her voice becoming quieter as the medication began to take hold. "And a beautiful heart, and your goooooorgeous brown eyes, and an adorable set of cheeks. Oh, I just LOVE them," she giggled, reaching around him to firmly grasp his behind. "They're just so damned SQUEEZABLE," she squeaked playfully.

Greg winced, jumping slightly in surprise. For someone about to fall dead asleep, his ailing, petite little wife had surprising strength in her grip.

"Molly," he said firmly, resisting the urge to give his smarting arse cheek a sympathetic rub where she'd no doubt left a forming bruise, "my love, you are thoroughly looped. I suspect your doctor prescribed your dosage based upon your age, not your body mass?"

"Oh, probably," Molly said, yawning. "But it sure seems to be working. I feel like a million qui…"

Greg held his breath, waiting. A soft muted snore told him his ailing wife had finally fallen asleep.

Softly, carefully, he kissed her temple. Maybe later, she'd awake feeling a bit better.


	12. Chapter 12 Blotto

Molly reclined against the pillows on the bed, planning to shamelessly ogle the view as Greg came out of the shower to get dressed.

Two days after the worst of her chest cold had passed, she was finally feeling better.

Greg raised an eyebrow as he stepped into the bedroom, wearing a towel and little else. With a barely perceptible smile, he turned away, reaching for his underpants.

Molly gasped as his towel dropped away. Frowning, he turned slightly to look at her, finding a look of intense displeasure on her face.

"Gregory Lestrade, what the HELL is that on your ass?"

"Huh?" Greg asked, genuinely confused.

"Don't 'HUH' me. There's a bruise on your arse. A sodding HAND PRINT. How COULD you… who the HELL did that?!" she demanded, sounding as though she were nearing tears.

Greg blinked several times, then sighed heavily. Barely keeping himself from rolling his eyes, he pulled his underpants on, then turned to walk over to her.

"You don't remember doing that, do you Love?"

"Remember WHAT, you dodgy bastard?" she demanded.

"Two days ago when you were blotto on medication, you goosed me. HARD. Put your hand there, sweetheart, you'll find it's an exact match."

Molly did so and blushed.

"Blotto, hey? She sighed, sad she couldn't remember.

"Yup," was Greg's reply. "Certified blotto."


	13. Chapter 13 Bum

"Ummmm… Darling, I think I have a bit of explaining to do…"

Greg looked up from his morning newspaper, looking at Molly's worried face.

"Explaining? What about?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"Well, I may have accused you of… briefly anyway… of going on the sniff…"

Greg paused, frowning, before his face lit up with sudden understanding. "Oh. THAT," he said.

Molly swallowed, looking a bit sheepish.

"I'm sorry you don't remember goosing me, I can assure you that you took a great deal of satisfaction in it. Honestly if you hadn't been so looped I might have enjoyed it a bit myself," he winked.

"Can't you be serious about this?" Molly pleaded. "I DO remember now, I'm trying to apologize. I all but accused you of cheating on me!"

"Molly, love," Greg soothed, do you remember when I was rat arsed on pain medication not that long ago? I THINK, maybe, I may have believed, albeit briefly, that you had a thing for Mycroft Holmes, that you had actually made a pass at him in front of me in hospital."

"Mycroft? But Mycroft didn't visit you in hospital, darling." Molly responded.

"Exactly my point. Call it temporary medically induced insanity," he concluded, pulling her close to kiss her soundly. "I'VE nothing to forgive, though I can't speak for my bruised bum…"


	14. Chapter 14 Bun

"I talked to Mary today," Molly said casually, as she and Greg prepared dinner together in their kitchen.

"Oh? Rosie's first birthday, I gather?"

"Yes. John wants it low-key, but Sherlock has really settled into the godfather thing. He's plenty of grandiose plans. You should see him darling," Molly laughed. "You'd think Rosie were HIS, the way he's taken to her. I didn't think that was even possible."

Greg smiled as he chopped vegetables, stirring sauce. "It's possible," he replied, simply. "Remember, I've known him longer than anyone. Sherlock Holmes is a man of great indifference to things and people who mean little to him. But to those who mean everything, he gives his heart completely."

"And his life," Molly replied, reflectively, thinking of Sherlock's two year self-imposed exile. "Rosie is special. John and Mary chose him, though if they'd been able, you would be her godfather as well."

Greg said nothing for several moments to this, before finally saying, "That would have been an honour."

"What would you think of our own baby then, darling?" Molly's tone seemed cautious and tentative.

Greg caught his breath. Hesitating only a few heartbeats, he finally replied, "I'd be agreeable."

Molly sighed in relief. "Agreeable, you say?"

"Yes. Absolutely. Why, Molly?" he grinned broadly, taking her in his arms. "Have we a little bun?"


	15. Chapter 15 Both

Greg lay in bed, grimacing.

The room was quiet, aside from the sound of Molly retching into the loo.

Throwing the covers off, he arose, padding his way into the bathroom. He sighed, feeling like a bit of a bastard, even though he knew fully that Molly wanted this as much as he did.

He leaned down briefly, kissing her hair, then promised, "Be right back, Love."

Returning, he set a stack of soda crackers by the bedside, and a can of club soda. Stopping at the linen closet, he grabbed a cloth.

"Don't think I don't appreciate what you're going through, sweetheart," he promised gently, as he kneeled down next to her, and gathered her hair back into an elastic tie. Molly smiled through her nausea as he cooled her brow with the wet cloth.

"It's temporary. And it's not your fault, Greg. I had a part in this too, remember." She raised her head, her misery having passed for the moment.

"Perhaps you might remind me?" he teased, sensing her pending recovery.

"Well, we'd briefly talked of a baby, but at the time it was just… whimsy," she started.

Greg raised his hand, cradling her head. "Then we got a bit… fond of the notion."

"Yes," Molly smiled. "I'm still fond, though."

"Well," he promised, "that makes us both."


	16. Chapter 16 Back

"So, have you any ideas for names?" Molly asked, as she sat curled into the curve of Greg's relaxed form.

"Not a single one, Love," Greg said softly. Absently, he reached over, stroking Barnaby's sleek silver back. "I've not a scrap of imagination when it comes to these things, you know that."

"Well, you had plenty of imagination when we were…" Molly started, before Greg cut her off with a silencing kiss to the side of her jawline.

"Yes well, that was then. This is now," he murmured against her skin. "Whatever you do, let's not call him Gregory, please, if we have a boy. That's got less imagination to it than even I have." He sighed against her shoulder, smiling into her shirt.

"And if we have a girl, then what? No Molly Juniors?" she giggled.

"I wouldn't object to that, though in all fairness you might," Greg said, laughing. He brought his hand up to rest lightly on her middle. "OH, definitely a girl," he said mysteriously.

Molly grinned, turning her head as much as she could to look at him.

"How the hell do you know THAT?" she demanded, giving him an amused look of skepticism.

"Easy," Greg replied mischievously, with another quick kiss. "She's kicking up a right fuss, because I'm talking about her behind her back!"


	17. Chapter 17 Bowed

"Come on, Love," Greg encouraged, as Sherlock sat in the corner of the small room, violin at the ready.

"You're insane," Molly said, exasperated, gasping in pain for what seemed the thousandth time that hour.

"Insane, no," Sherlock piped in, calmly. "In fact he's being quite sensible, listening to a doctor's advice. If I may be of some assistance, I remind you that "Sherlock", as a name, is also sensible."

"Oh, BOLLOCKS!" Molly cried, losing her breath. "You might just sod off, the bloody both of you," she gasped.

"Oh, nonsense, sweetheart," Greg said, urging her to her feet. "John suggested that moving around might move your labour along, and Sherlock here has been kind enough to subject himself to the awkwardness of seeing you in this state in order that he might provide musical accompaniment."

Sherlock, uncharacteristically silent for the most part, simply rose to his feet with a subtle flourish, raising his violin. "On your mark, Detective Inspector," he said, grinning broadly.

"Ohhhhhhh PISS OFF!" Molly spat, firing a death glare at their lanky friend.

"Close enough," Sherlock said dryly, as he began to play what had been their wedding waltz.

Greg, turning Molly's face towards his with a finger to her chin, smiled cautiously. "May I have this dance, Dr. Lestrade?"

Molly finally smiled, as her husband bowed.


	18. Chapter 18 Bear

Sherlock, having awoken with a start, rushed over to Greg and Molly's flat in full blown panic mode.

Greg looked up from the sofa, his coffee in mid-air en route to his mouth, in shocked surprise as their consulting detective friend burst through the door.

"Molly! Where is Molly?! She's… tell me she's…"

"Sherlock, calm down," Greg finally managed as he rose to his feet. "She's out running errands. She thought she'd look for a cot for the baby today and maybe a push chair."

"For… the baby, you say?" Sherlock's voice and expression began to take on a look of immense relief.

"Yeeeesssssss," Greg said slowly, raising an eyebrow. "The baby. You know, that little person that appears nine months after a woman becomes pregnant." Greg cleared his throat. "Would you like a drink, Sherlock?"

"Oh, God yes. Please," he said, dropping himself into the nearest chair. "I had the worst nightmare, Greg. I was forced to play the violin whilst you and Molly waltzed in the delivery room. I've been witness to one birth in my lifetime, and that was quite enough."

"I see," Greg said, suddenly fighting an urge to burst out laughing. "Well, rest assured, Molly is still only just at the end of her second trimester. No worries, that's a cross we won't make you bear."


	19. Chapter 19 Brilliant

Molly lay back in Greg's arms, giggling heartily.

"He was… really, he was THAT upset?" she finally managed. "About playing a song to move my labour along? Oh that must have been one hell of a dream, darling," Molly said. She caught her breath and sighed, flushed from laughter.

"He was quite adamant that witnessing Rosie's birth was quite enough, thanks ever so, and that being forced to remain in the delivery room whilst you popped out our daughter was nothing short of horrid." Greg chuckled lightly, his hand absently resting on Molly's bump.

"Well, now, that's not SUCH a bad idea though, Greg," Molly said thoughtfully. "It DOES make sense to move around to help labour along, and I can't think of a more lovely way to do it than to ballroom dance in my hospital room…"

"Oh, no," Greg protested, dismay tinging his gravelly baritone. "You can't be serious?"

"I AM, in fact, quite serious darling," Molly said, matter of factly, snuggling down further into his embrace. She moved her hand to rest on top of his, giving it a light squeeze.

"Sherlock doesn't HAVE to be in the delivery room of course, but if he wished, he might compose something special, and record it in advance for us."

Greg considered this approvingly, deciding Molly was, really, quite brilliant.


	20. Chapter 20 Board

"Really, Gavin," Sherlock said, trying to distract Greg. "You can't be serious."

"You bloody know my name, and yes, actually, I'm quite serious. As is Molly." Greg levelled a steady stare and a half smirk at the younger man.

"Alright, FINE, Greg. Yes, I bloody know it. And Molly is, as always, brilliant. After all, she decided YOU were a perfect partner? I'd call that the very wisest of decisions." Sherlock smiled sweetly.

"Bollocks. You're trying to deflect," Greg countered. "What Molly wants is simple. She would like for you to compose, or even perhaps simply use an existing piece, and pre-record it for the delivery room. That way you might help along and not have to ACTUALLY be present. You might simply wait with John and Mary, and Mrs. Hudson for your godchild to arrive."

"My godchild?" Sherlock asked, suddenly, taken aback. Greg savoured the sudden silence he'd prompted.

"Yes. Yours and John's, and Mary's and Mrs. Hudson's. We're stretching a few rules."

"Oh," Sherlock conceded thoughtfully, thinking lovingly of Rosie. "Well when you put it THAT way, of course I'll compose something special. This may be the very first thing my goddaughter hears when she arrives into the world."

Greg grinned.

Sherlock Holmes was already hopelessly in love.

Mission accomplished.

Molly would be ECSTATIC - Sherlock was on board.


	21. Chapter 21 Bailey

"Is Sherlock Holmes ever wrong?" Sherlock smiled sweetly at his two best friends as they sat around the fireplace at 221B.

"Occasionally, yes, he has been known to be," John pointed out, taking a pull from his bottle of imported lager.

"Very rarely," Sherlock said with a slight huff. "Barely notable."

Greg nearly choked on his drink. "Rarely, yes. VERY rarely? Dream on, Sherlock!"

"So, you're saying I'm WRONG then? About the baby being a girl?" Sherlock smirked over his glass.

"I'm a medical doctor, and I say you and Molly are having a boy. Based upon certain… signs."

"Well… ONE of you is right," Greg conceded. "I've seen the scans and I know for certain. But I'll not tell you which of you is correct. I hear tell that Mary and Mrs. Hudson have opinions on which they are in mutual agreement."

"Mary and Mrs. Hudson are quite correct," Sherlock said, haughtily. John frowned at him.

"They're daft. Neither has a clue," the doctor sniffed.

"Well, time will tell the both of you who's right. Godson, or Goddaughter. Hmmm… which is it then… Goddaughter or Godson…" Greg grinned smugly.

"Is there a name chosen yet for my… sorry," Sherlock apologized, glancing to John, "OUR Goddaughter?"

"GodSON", John corrected the detective with a huff.

Greg smiled cheekily into his glass. "Bailey."


	22. Chapter 22 Baffled

"What sort of name is BAILEY for a boy?" John sneered. Sherlock shared a look of disdain with his best friend.

"What sort of name is Bailey for a GIRL, for that matter," Sherlock said, firing a nasty look at Greg.

Greg simply chuckled softly as he sat back, bringing his ankle up to rest on his knee in that self-satisfied posture he used to assume whilst carrying out one of his infamous "Drugs Busts" in Sherlock's flat.

"It's a unisex name, of course. Molly has always liked that name and I think it's got a nice ring to it as well. We chose it before we knew if the baby were a girl or a boy. It suits either."

"That is WHOLLY lacking in any imagination, Lestrade," Sherlock scolded. "Of course YOU'D come up with something as asinine as THAT."

"Sherlock," John said, raising his eyebrows. "Manners."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, refusing to admit that he actually DID rather think that "Bailey Lestrade" had a nice ring to it, and his irritation was merely for the utter lack of any real clue in the name.

"Now, I have to admit," John conceded, "It IS a nice name. I don't suppose there's a middle name chosen?" he hinted, hopefully.

Greg sighed happily, basking in the fact that he had them baffled.


	23. Chapter 23 Bickering

"So," Molly mused, as she set out plates for dinner. "You've strung them along, told our baby's first name, and shamelessly hinted at basically what amounts to a red herring… you are cruel, Gregory Francis Lestrade," she said, with a thoroughly satisfied smirk.

"Nobody said I couldn't be a bastard," Greg confessed with a shrug. "One of them is right. And both are agreeable to Bailey, though neither would admit it. They'd go into fits if I gave them a middle name," he said, as he pulled a dish out of the oven. Placing it on a hot pad, he snickered to himself.

"Bailey Frances," he said. "Pays homage to us both, yet is still unisex enough to keep those two gits guessing."

"So one thinks Mary and Mrs. Hudson are crackers, the other thinks they're quite sane. How do you break it to an army Doctor that he's wrong? Molly mused.

"It's worse than that, Love," Greg said, as he pulled Molly's chair out for her. "How do you break it to a pain in the ass egomaniac that he's right?"

"Well, I suppose," Molly said, as she settled herself in for what she had of late considered Greg's best dish, "we simply let our daughter break the news to them. From there," she concluded, "she settles their friendly bickering."


	24. Chapter 24 Bountiful

"Do you ever wonder what might have happened to John and Sherlock if Mary hadn't survived being shot?" Molly mused one day, while she and Greg busied themselves assembling a cot for the baby.

"I haven't really thought about it, I confess," Greg said, almost absently. He was quiet for a few moments while he finished tightening a bolt.

"I don't imagine it would have done their friendship much good," Greg finally said. "I think Sherlock pushing Mary back when she tried to jump in front of him probably saved them both, though. Of course, if he'd kept his big mouth shut in the first place it's quite likely Mary wouldn't have been shot at ALL," he concluded.

"Mmmm," Molly murmured, in agreement. "Thank God it all turned out alright though. I can't imagine not having Mary in our lives."

"Neither can I," Greg replied softly. "She keeps those two gits in line better than I ever could, and I've got a warrant card and the power to throw their asses in a holding cell," he smirked mischievously. "Of course, I'm not a former gun-for-hire, either. Explains how she keeps them minding their p's and q's."

Molly laughed at this. "A woman has her ways, you know," she hinted slyly.

To this, Greg simply grinned knowingly. "And her ways are bountiful."


	25. Chapter 25 Benignly

"Your cat has claimed the baby's cot," Greg pointed out, casually.

"MY cat? Barnaby's YOUR cat, Darling," Molly said, as she sidled up next to him, draping an arm around his waist. She smiled as Greg wrapped an arm around her, and snuzzled her temple.

"I'm not talking about Barnaby. I'm talking about Toby," he said, matter of factly. "He's always liked confined spaces. Barnaby likes to stretch out, but Toby likes to be contained."

Molly sighed as Greg gently guided her towards the sofa. "I suppose… more than once I've had to improvise when he's commandeered the basin. He fills it up, he's always done that. Oh Greg, I just don't have the HEART to evict him."

Greg smiled to himself, thinking of all the times since Molly moved in with Toby that he had decided to go to work unshaven because Toby had claimed loo territory.

Donovan had smirked at him, thinking he'd simply been too "occupied" with Molly to have the time to shave. Greg let her think that. What did it matter to him, anyway?

Anderson had been more understanding. He'd noticed the ginger and silver hairs on Greg's clothes, and owning a cat himself who liked small spaces, had concluded, correctly, what was REALLY going on.

"Has he taken over baby's cot yet?" Phillip asked, benignly.


	26. Chapter 26 Bow

"I think I've got it," Sherlock said, with a self-satisfied grin.

John and Mrs. Hudson looked at him quizzically. The consulting detective simply glanced at them.

"Silence, please. I'll only play this once before Bailey hears it, so pay attention the first time."

John and Mrs. Hudson shared an amused look, before settling down.

What issued forth from Sherlock's violin was something that made them both close their eyes and smile. Little Bailey Lestrade, whether boy or girl (For Greg and Molly steadfastly refused hints either way) might certainly enter the world on a joyful note – literally, and figuratively.

"Well, Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson said softly, "Any baby would be fortunate to have that be the first thing they hear."

"Well done, my friend," John praised. "Molly and Greg will be pleased. Have you recorded it yet?"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," Sherlock retorted. "Molly has two weeks yet. There's still plenty of time to record "Bailey's Welcome" for posterity. I'm not concerned in the least."

The three fell silent for a moment as John's phone, then Mrs. Hudson's, then Sherlock's, toned with their customized alerts.

"Oh, shit," John said simply, as he checked his messages.

"How soon can you have that in the can" John muttered, "because I think Bailey is about to make his opening bow."

Sherlock sneered. "HER opening bow!"


	27. Chapter 27 Behave

"Oh, shit," Sherlock muttered, pacing back and forth. "This was not anticipated in the least. Oh, shit, shit…" he fretted.

Mary looked at John, sharing a look of quiet amusement. "I thought you had PLENTY of time to record your composition for Molly's labour, Sherlock?" she teased gently.

"It's his worst nightmare, Love," John commented lightly. "He may have to perform live and in concert while Molly gives birth. Also live and in concert."

"Oh, PISS OFF, JOHN!" Sherlock fired at his best friend. "There is a time and a place for your so-called sense of humour. This is NEITHER."

"Oh, I beg to differ," Mrs. Hudson said simply, as she picked up her knitting project, slow going as it was a recent hobby taken up especially for little Bailey.

"Now, mind your manners, William Sherlock Scott Holmes," Mary scolded. Sherlock blanched. There were few women who COULD make him mind his manners, and a woman with Mary's particular skill-set was one of them.

Mrs. Hudson, with her matronly ways, was another.

Rosie Watson had her special wiles with Sherlock, too.

Molly Lestrade, sweetly, could guilt him like no other woman he'd ever known.

But their darling, tiny little Bailey Lestrade, he was certain, was soon to be yet another girl who would make him, without question or protest, happily behave.


	28. Chapter 28 Beaming

Sherlock didn't even cringe.

Focusing his eyes upon the floor, admiring Greg and Molly's surprisingly impressive footwork, Sherlock simply played.

He did happen to notice when the feet vanished, and others joined them.

He might vaguely recall voices, not belonging to Greg or Molly, becoming prominent in the room.

Still, onwards he played.

Sherlock played as though his very sanity depended upon it – and indeed, perhaps it just may have.

Later on, John, Mary, and Mrs. Hudson would comment that they had never heard such beautifully passionate sounds emitting forth from his violin.

Sherlock only recalled the music, and then, suddenly, the gentle hand of Greg, with a slight tremor, stilling the wrist that manipulated his bow.

"Sherlock," Greg said softly, "You can stop now. "Baby is here. Time to find out who was right about her being a girl."

Sherlock seemed to snap to attention. His breath caught as he looked up at the shining brown eyes of his Yarder friend.

"Shall I summon John and the others" he asked, numbly. Greg simply nodded to this.

"Wait? Did you say… GIRL?"

He looked first to Greg, who simply beamed with relief, then to Molly, exhausted but ecstatic.

"Yes, Sherlock," Molly confirmed in a tired voice. "She's a girl. Time for John to face the music," she said, with unexpected brightness.


	29. Chapter 29 Babies

Toby Hooper glared at Barnaby Lestrade in disgusted dismay.

His favourite spot to sleep was now occupied by a miniature wriggling human kitten.

"She's not THAT bad of a kitten," Barnaby communicated defensively with a meow. "She's rather warm to curl up against, if you'd stop being a curmudgeonly old git."

"Please, don't be an idiot Barnaby," Toby sniffed, scowling. He took a swipe at his face for emphasis.

"I'm not an idiot, Tobe," the younger cat indicated, turning his face to sniff at Toby's cheek, then taking a tentative lick at it with his tongue.

"Oh, STOP sucking up," Toby protested. "And you've missed a spot. Idiot."

"Mangy old fleabag," Barnaby simply huffed, as he stalked off to the baby's room. "You fart like a bloody Clydesdale too."

Toby stared after the silver tabby. The old ginger cat would never admit it, but he didn't mind the new cot occupant as much as he implied.

When Toby reached the room, he gracefully jumped up into the cot. Barnaby had already curled himself up against the tiny sleeping form, purring with warm, cozy contentment.

Toby was silent as he curled himself gently around the feet of the newest member of their family, unable to stop purring himself.

He supposed, after all, there really was something to be said about human babies.


	30. Chapter 30 Back (2)

Molly and Greg remained silently entangled with both each other and their sheets. The door to their flat had opened up unexpectedly, a familiar baritone issuing forth from another room.

"No, no, don't get up, wouldn't want to interrupt your extracurricular activities in favour of MY GODDAUGHTER, would we?" the baritone voice carried down the hallway.

"But she's not crying," Molly whispered, confused.

"I KNOW," Greg responded, trying not to hold his breath too long. "She's snug as a bloody bug."

"NO WORRIES," Sherlock called out, as he gently removed the calm and contented baby from her cot. He smiled to himself at his caper. "I'll just take her for a stroll. Uncle John and Auntie Mary thought a playdate with Rosie. But whatever you do, don't get up!"

Greg opened his mouth to shout something back out of sheer irritation when Molly clamped her hand over his face. "You SHUSH now Gregory Francis. If he wants to take Bailey for a playdate, LET HIM," she whispered fiercely.

"We'll be back shortly. I trust you'll both be decent and fit for company by then," Sherlock called out as he exited the flat with the happy infant. Bailey cooed at him. Reaching up, she gently grasped at his nose as Sherlock, satisfied he'd given Molly and Greg adequate "alone" time, cooed back.


	31. Chapter 31 Blithely

Greg sat, holding Bailey. The infant dozed comfortably in her father's arms, while he found himself unable to tear his gaze from her.

Molly approached quietly, and reached out wordlessly, as Greg, seeing her from the corner of his vision, handed over the empty bottle.

"I think we've a daddy's girl on our hands," Molly commented lightly, as she took the empty bottle from her husband.

"Dunno," Greg replied, his gravelly voice barely above a whisper, "She seems quite fond of her mum as well…"

"Not like she is with you," Molly said simply, as she carefully nestled herself next to Greg. "She settles faster with you, I've noticed."

"Not MUCH faster," Greg protested. He carefully moved an arm to let Molly settle under it. He smiled, having both of his girls nicely in his embrace.

"MMM, I could see how she could get used to this," Molly murmured, just before she failed to hold back a yawn.

"I've gotten a bit used to it myself, actually," was his reply. Bailey stirred, prompting Molly to bring her hand up to settle her.

"Never would have thought this two years ago," Greg finally said, after a contented silence. "Best days or worst, but when I come home, now I have not just you, but our daughter too."

At this, Molly smiled, blithely.


	32. Chapter 32 Be

Greg and Molly sat next to Mary, sharing looks of unadulterated amusement with each other.

"Don't be ridiculous, John. It's ME Bailey loves best. She's the smartest infant I've known since Rosie. Those two girls are exceptionally brilliant, in spite of their genetic heritage." Sherlock fairly sniffed down his nose at John.

"Rein it in, Sherlock," Mary warned. "Remember, I know how to kill you discreetly and Molly knows how to cover it up."

"Well, I maintain still that it's ME she favours. Look at her, so content," John retorted.

"That's because you sang her a lullaby, John," Greg said lightly. "She loves the sound of your voice when you sing. You've had plenty of practice with Rosie after all."

"She settled perfectly fine earlier with ME," Sherlock protested with a huff. "I've never seen her doze off so quickly, in fact."

Molly sighed. "That's because you told her a bedtime story, Sherlock. She loves the sound of YOUR voice when you speak. I can hardly blame her though. You've a baritone rumble that could settle any female into contentment. Mary and myself excepted, of course," she said, giggling to herself and glancing at Greg and John.

"She may have a point," John confessed. "I maintain she loves me best, but I SUPPOSE, we ALL know how fickle females can be."


	33. Chapter 33 Bollocks

"You know you'd be home with Molly and the baby by now, yeah Boss?"

Sally Donovan was tired, out of patience, and irritable as hell.

"Yeah, I would be, but that's not really the point, is it, Donovan?" Greg was equally tired, out of patience, and irritable as hell.

"So then tell me again why it is we're following the Frea…"

Greg cut her off with a steely glare, his dark brown eyes turning a dangerous grey.

"Why we're following SHERLOCK willy nilly with no rhyme or reason?" she amended, with a good measure of reluctance.

"Because he's right far more often than he's wrong," Greg simply explained. "And he's a clever man."

"You're clever too, Greg," Sally protested. "You've solved many a case without HIM."

"WE'VE solved, Sergeant. And yes, without him. Maybe I AM clever, Sally," Greg said, softening his tone. He studied his Sergeant as her own expression softened. "But I'm also clever enough to recognize a cleverer one. And I'm not so vain as to ignore when I need help. When WE need help."

"Fair enough," Sally sighed with resignation. "He may be cleverer than you, but nobody's wiser, I reckon. NOBODY."

Greg said nothing to this, only standing silently, watching Sherlock in action. "That might be up for debate," he finally replied.

Sally smirked playfully. "BOLLOCKS."


	34. Chapter 34 Blimey

"I still say you're a Freak," Sally sniffed. Christmas party or no, Sally Donovan may be wearing her festive best, but she was still on guard.

"To each her own," Sherlock said lightly. It was obvious, given his tone, that he gave not a damn one way or the other what she thought of him.

"Refill on the wassail?" she asked, as she offered a fresh cup.

"Thank you, yes, I shall," he smiled, more warmly than he intended.

Sally had decided, upon reflection, to give Sherlock a chance. A REAL chance. And her way of beginning was to observe him with her copper's eye in a social setting.

The annual Christmas Eve gathering at 221B Baker Street was perfect.

Sally handed him a fresh cup, watching him. She noticed how he smiled while looking towards certain people.

At John and Greg, he smiled warmly, brotherly even.

At Mary, Molly, and Mrs. Hudson, he smiled protectively.

But upon Rosie and Bailey, Sally noted, Sherlock Holmes gazed with pride and loving adoration.

He really was an enigma, she thought to herself.

Maybe he wasn't so bad after all.

Sherlock watched her discreetly, noting her expressions.

Donovan seemed to be warming a bit. This was fine by him, she'd be less annoying.

Greg looked on, holding Bailey.

He smiled, and simply muttered, "Blimey!"


	35. Chapter 35 Bold

"They're pregnant," Sherlock declared casually.

Greg stared at him briefly, while Molly shot a look towards their friend.

"Anderson and Donovan? But…? Greg stammered. His immediate thought wasn't so much to what Sally would do, but what HE would do, and WHAT random Detective Sergeant he would wind up with in Sally's inevitable absence for maternity leave. Donovan was a pain in the ass but she was good at what she did. REALLY good. And more's the point, he VALUED her on his team.

"Yes, Anderson and Donovan. You didn't think her sudden tolerance of me was RANDOM, did you Greg?" Sherlock sipped from his teacup conspicuously.

"Well, I thought perhaps it was your… well… I really have no idea what it was. Females are mysterious. I never claimed to understand them, only accept them," Greg admitted, with a shrug towards Molly. His wife simply smiled with understanding at this.

"Hormones, no more, no less. She'll likely ask for your advice in time," Sherlock added.

"How long has my husband before he has to break in a new Sergeant?" Molly spoke. Greg sighed softly with relief at her intervention.

"Oh," Sherlock casually said, as he chose a ginger nut from the plate in front of him, "A good six months at least, perhaps seven if my deductions are a bit bold."


	36. Chapter 36 Best

"How is he adjusting?" Molly asked casually, as she and Greg stood in her mortuary, watching the departing back of Phillip Anderson.

"I'm not sure it's sunk in quite yet, love," Greg responded. He shook his head lightly, then turned to Molly with a small smile.

"It's going to sink in with a great crash soon enough if he doesn't pull his head out of his arse," Molly simply replied. She glanced at her husband with a single raised eyebrow, before turning back to her post-mortem results.

She paused a moment, suddenly looking up at Greg. "You're not the least bit worried, are you Gregory?" Molly crossed her arms, cocking her head at him.

"Phillip Anderson isn't a stupid man. Nor is he oblivious. I think he's not quite grasped it, but perhaps that isn't because this was… unexpected."

"You think they PLANNED to have this baby, then?" Molly seemed a bit more surprised than even she thought she was.

"Planned… no. But I don't think he or she is much of a shock. I think he and Donovan simply decided a baby wouldn't be at all unwelcome and so they simply…" he trailed off.

"Let it happen." Molly finished. She turned to him, raising her hand to touch his face.

"Yeah," Greg said, gazing down at her. "That seemed best."


	37. Chapter 37 Beauty

"Boss?"

Greg looked up from his desk, where he'd been quietly catching up on reports.

"Sally?" Greg responded with a friendly, welcoming tone.

"Might I… I mean… before I…"

Greg smiled. Sally was at that stage. The one where she may or may not retain her last meal, and the one where she may be questioning the wisdom of… CERTAIN decisions.

"By all means, come in. Sit down, Sally. What's on your mind, Sergeant?"

"Nothing, really… well… everything, really. Boss… I mean… Greg…" she asked, quietly.

Greg sat serenely, having abandoned his paperwork, and set down his pen.

"How did you know it was the right thing to do?"

Greg paused a moment, before responding. "Do you have dinner plans this evening?"

Sally was at first confused, but then decided, well, she had come to Greg for a reason. She might as well follow his rabbit trail of wisdom.

"No… I had dinner HOPES. Of keeping it down," she laughed softly.

When later, Detective Sergeant Sally Donovan had joined Greg and Molly in their humble flat, she found herself set at ease, between Molly's motherly air, and Greg's usual, subtle fatherly way.

But sitting in Molly's rocking chair, Bailey Lestrade in her arms, set her most at ease.

"So SHE'S how you knew then," she said, assured. "This darling little beauty."


	38. Chapter 38 Breathed

Phillip Anderson seemed hesitant.

"Dr. Lestrade?" he asked, cautiously.

Molly looked up at him, smiling warmly. She wondered briefly if there was to be another dinner guest soon.

"Did Lestrade… I mean… Greg… ever have doubts or… trepidations… when you were pregnant?

Molly thought on this carefully. Of course Greg hadn't doubted, but how to convey that to one very nervous man who had suddenly decided to start a family with someone that everyone had, until that point, assumed was just a casual affair…

"Not for a single moment," Molly said. "He naturally wondered how he'd be as a father, but not once did he question our decision to start a family."

Anderson nodded thoughtfully at this, seeming to absorb it, and to think on it.

"I wonder too, how I'll be. I mean, as a dad. I've never really wondered at the decision. Just if I'll be…" he trailed off. "Damnit. If I'll be GOOD enough for her. Or him."

"Have you dinner plans tonight?" Molly suddenly asked. She smiled mysteriously at the nervous man, who simply shook his head.

"Well, you do now," the petite pathologist stated firmly.

Later, after dinner, Phillip Anderson sat in Molly's rocking chair, holding a very contented Bailey, with natural ease that surprised him.

"No doubts now, thank you little one," he softly breathed.


	39. Chapter 39 Bother

"Don't argue with me John, it does nothing to prove your intellect," Sherlock said, condescendingly. John rolled his eyes and bit his tongue, choosing instead to focus on Bailey, propped up against his shoulder as she snoozed with contentment.

"I'm not ARGUING, Sherlock," he protested. "I'm simply pointing out that perhaps Greg and Molly may already have plans for their anniversary and perhaps don't necessarily need help from US. Meaning YOU."

Sherlock heaved a heavy sigh as Bailey stirred in John's arms. "Here," he said, "let me take her for a bit." John didn't protest as Sherlock took the tiny girl from him, handing over Rosie in return.

"And if they DON'T have plans… I mean it would be a miracle if either of them even REMEMBERED the day…" Sherlock retorted, adjusting the baby in his arms.

John raised his eyebrows in disbelief, shaking his head. "Really, Sherlock. REALLY? This is Greg Lestrade we're talking about. He could be bloody CATATONIC and STILL remember his anniversary with Molly. And Molly is even LESS likely to forget her anniversary with Greg. She's a romantic at heart, remembering things like that are just… her THING."

Sherlock huffed a dramatic sigh, looking right at Rosie. The girl cooed as he shook his head sadly and declared, "Rosamund, your daddy can be SUCH a bother!"


	40. Chapter 40 Bit's

"I'm not sure I trust them," Molly said, her brow furrowing.

Greg was a bit less suspicious – a "bit" being the operative word.

Knowing John was involved just happened to be that "bit" that kept him from nixing the entire plan.

It wasn't that he didn't trust their friends, it was just that he knew them a bit too well.

A "bit" being, again, the operative word.

"They only mean well, Love," Greg finally replied, as he settled on the couch, drawing Molly into his casual embrace. "Whatever it is, it's only ONE anniversary. If it goes a bit pear-shaped we've still next year to make up for it. Anyway do we REALLY need THAT actual day to be so special?" he pointed out, softly, as he rested his chin on her shoulder from behind her.

"Darling you know what they say about the road to hell…" Molly pleaded quietly, as she leaned into Greg's embrace.

"It's paved with good intentions. I know. But those two gits couldn't do us harm if they wanted to. Let's just roll with whatever they've got planned and sod it to the rest. They want to do this… whatever it is they want to do."

"I'm going against common sense and better judgement," Molly finally said. "Oh Gregory Francis, you and your "just a bit's!"


	41. Chapter 41 Blissful

"Really?" Molly asked, looking around. "This was their surprise?"

"Would seem so," Greg replied, his smile slowly growing larger. "Bailey is with Mary and John according to the note, Rosie must be delighted…"

The Lestrades glanced around their flat, surrounded by candles and the tantalizing aroma of dinner on the go, accompanied by a note requesting that they be discreet in their activities and locales when the timers were set to go off, at which point John and Mary, with Sherlock tagging along for backup, would arrive to deal with the finishing touches. Mrs. Hudson, they were assured, would be happily minding both Rosie and Bailey.

"So, they mean to cook us a meal, mind our daughter, show up with adequate warning, then leave us to our own devices… nothing elaborate… Gregory, this is…"

"Perfect," he murmured, as he turned to gaze down at his wife.

"Yes," she giggled softly. "And to think we didn't trust them. Well I didn't trust them."

"I didn't either, not entirely at least," Greg admitted, as he observed a note to turn on their compact stereo system. Noting the flash drive in the port, he rose an eyebrow, before shrugging his shoulders and just rolling with it.

"That's our song," Molly said, as she approached her husband. "They've thought of everything, haven't they? So blissful…"


	42. Chapter 42 Birth

"How the hell did you do it, Greg?" Phillip Anderson asked, as he heaved a great exhausted sigh at a crime scene. "How did you put up with Dr. Hooper… I mean Dr. Lestrade… when she was as pregnant as Sally is now?"

Greg stared into the distance, his expression briefly morphing in relation to his thoughts to this query – waffling between amusement and deep wisdom.

"How did I… put up with my pregnant wife… hmmm…" he said, with a deliberately ironic pregnant pause.

Phillip Anderson looked to his boss with anticipatory expectation.

"Well, for starters, it wasn't ME who was going through the hormones, the physical shit. The emotional highs and lows… the swinging between wanting to jump my bones and wanting to garrotte me in my sleep…"

Phillip Anderson wasn't a stupid man, Greg knew this. But he was at times a bit, Greg thought… naïve. Not in general, mind, but mostly when it came to his pregnant betrothed and colleague, Sally Donovan.

"So then… you're saying…" Phillip hesitated while he got a feel for the notion, "it wasn't YOU who put up with Molly, it was Molly who put up with YOU?"

"Well, by rights I suppose that's how it should have been. Look, Anderson," Greg said patiently, "remember, it's not you, it's SALLY who's actually giving birth…"


	43. Chapter 43 Bride

"He's putting up with a lot of shit, Molly," Sally lamented with a heavy sigh.

"Is he complaining?" Molly asked, simply, as she removed gloves and set instruments to their rightful place in her mortuary.

"Well… no. Not really," Sally admitted, as her hand absently moved to her middle. "I get the feeling he's been… talked to. Or he's sought advice."

"Probably," Molly replied cryptically, as she thought of Greg's sometimes reluctant penchant for imparting words of wisdom.

"Well I can't speak for Phillip of course," Molly said, as she pulled up a stool. "But Greg understood when I was pregnant with Bailey that I was carrying the entirety of the burden, at least until she'd be born. I tried not to be cranky with him but…" she trailed off.

"Sod it Molly, sometimes I want to rip his bloody head off, and sometimes I just want to cry in his arms. We weren't even REALLY seriously together when we started all of this. Now we're going to be parents soon… and he's proposed and we've a wedding to plan…"

"I'd say things GOT serious then, Sarge," Molly smiled warmly. "Look, Phillip is a good man and he wants to do right by you and your boy. And not lightly... I'd say the sooner the better that you be his bride…"


	44. Chapter 44 Betrothed

Greg suppressed a groan and an eyeroll. Anderson was distracted again.

"Anderson, it's perfectly fine. You've arranged it all, Molly has even said you've done a capital job of it. Sally is going to love it."

"Really? Because I'm not sure now of the flowers… or the colours… bollocks, Greg. What if I've absolutely buggered it all up…?"

"Phillip, don't take this personally, but you're the bloody reason I drink," Greg finally said with a barely suppressed snort.

"Well at least you've a legitimate reason," was the reply, with a low chuckle. "Seriously though… we're getting MARRIED. You really think Sally will like this?"

"Yes," Greg said quietly. "She'll love it. Look, in very short order you've gone from a casual affair to pending parenthood and now a marriage before your boy arrives. Some people need a slow burn and some just thrive in a blaze. You and Sally are the blaze."

"You really think so?" Phillip asked, sounding hopeful.

"Absolutely," his boss replied with a grin. "Look, between ourselves, Molly has been having whimsical chats with Sally, getting ideas, preferences, likes, dislikes, that sort of thing. Trust me, you know your bride a lot better than you think."

Phillip smiled, relieved. "Well then. One last thing to sort. Sir, would you be my best man while I marry my betrothed?"


	45. Chapter 45 Bloke

"Do you suppose he gets it?" John asked Greg, curiously, as he cradled Bailey. The young girl wiggled happily in his arms, and John smiled at her warmly, as any self-respecting uncle-figure.

Greg himself held Rosie, only a bit older than his own daughter. "Sherlock?" he finally replied, after tearing his eyes away from Rosie's intense blue-eyed gaze. "I think he just might. He may not ever be a father in the biological sense, but he's not entirely hopeless."

"No, I suppose not," John admitted. "Mary happens to agree with you, by the way. And Molly. Some people are happy to be parents, and others are content to be the uncles and aunts."

Greg nodded, as he sighed, sitting back and settling John and Mary's little girl against his chest. Rosie clutched at his shirt before nodding off, recognizing his scent as one of her happy trusted places.

"Sherlock is a very good uncle, I reckon. I think he likes the fact that he can spoil our girls then hand them back when it's time to change their nappies or settle their hissy fits," Greg pointed out.

"Still, he'll be their guardian and staunchest advocate. He's taken in. Hook line and sinker," John said, as Bailey caught him with her deep brown eyes. "Like us…"

Greg grinned broadly, laughing. "Poor bloke!"


	46. Chapter 46 Boys

Molly Lestrade was disgruntled.

"Do you see this, Gregory. Do… you… SEE… it?" she demanded, holding up one of Bailey's onesies, fresh from the laundry.

Greg paused, a bit nervous, realizing full well that he didn't have the faintest bloody clue what his wife was on about.

"Molly… sweetheart… at the risk of being banished to the sofa… no, I don't sodding see it…"

"YOUR cat has left cat hairs all over my daughter's laundry," she spat at him.

"MY cat," Greg said… "Barnaby, you say? The silver tabby, you mean?"

"You know damned well which cat I mean, Gregory Francis. This isn't Toby's doing." Molly glared at him.

"Ah. Barnaby. The cat YOU gave me… so technically YOU'RE responsible for…" Greg cautiously pointed out, knowing just how far he could push his defense.

Molly glared at him, as Barnaby himself suddenly appeared, weaving his way around her ankles, purring conspicuously loudly, turning on the charm full bore. She sighed, reaching down to pick up the adoring feline.

"You're bastards, the both of you," she said, frowning at Greg as the corners of both their mouthes twitched. Greg knew his wife's weak points. He was one. Their daughter was another. As final resort, Toby and Barnaby might win the day for everyone.

"Maybe," Greg admitted, "but we're still your beloved boys."


	47. Chapter 47 Bafflement

The Lestrade household, including the cats, were at their wits' end.

Bailey had decided to start screaming, every evening, like clockwork.

Nothing they did seemed to appease her, until one night…

"Oh, she's incessant," Barnaby conveyed to Toby. "My sensitive sensitive ears… HOW do you put up with it, Tobes?"

Toby opened his eyes and raised his head, gazing serenely at his younger co-housecat. "I pretend she's you talking to me, and she becomes astoundingly easy to ignore, after that." Toby yawned widely.

Barnaby, rather than reply to this directly, simply went over to Toby, proceeding to sit on his head, rolling over and initiating a small wrestling match.

"Oomph. Bloody Git. I wasn't SERIOUS," Toby protested, extricating himself. "There IS a trick, though," he said, as he casually washed his front paws, nibbling on his claws to clean them.

"What trick is that, you old fart?" Barnaby huffed. "And why have you taken so long to appease this incessant racket every night?"

"Hold my catnip and watch this," Toby said, with a flicking of his whiskers. Barnaby watched the older tomcat as he strolled into the nursery, jumped into the cot, and curled up next to Bailey. Toby began to purr loudly, reaching out to soft paw the girl's face, patting her gently. Bailey's discontent suddenly ceased, to Barnaby's bafflement.


	48. Chapter 48 Brightened

"Hmmm," Sally said, as she held Bailey. "Are you sure?"

Bailey babbled, reaching up to grasp at Sally's unruly curls.

"I take it that's a YES, then?" was the reply. Sally shifted the young girl, having volunteered on her day off to look after Greg's small daughter.

Sally smiled as the baby giggled, babbling away. "I'm just not sure though… really. I mean, Phillip is agreeable to anything. I could suggest _Benedict_ of all things, and he'd be fine with that. I mean, WHO names their baby BENEDICT? It sounds like bloody brekkie. And a posh complicated one, at that!"

Bailey laughed, pulling gently at the curls, trying to reach them to her little teething mouth. Sally was grateful for the shorter style she'd opted for of late.

"Benjamin then?" Sally asked, curiously. "Seriously? Oh I'd love a little Ben, I think it would just SUIT, you know?" She caught the young girl's eyes, and held the gaze as Bailey babbled some more, seeming to be in agreement.

"Oh, you ARE serious... And Sherlock would like it, you say? I wonder if Phillip will be as agreeable… though, well how COULDN'T he be, really. Benjamin is such a sensible, traditional name. It's almost as traditional and sensible as 'Phillip,' don't you think?"

At this, as though in agreement, Bailey's smile brightened.


	49. Chapter 49 Bungled

Greg sat down on the waiting room chair, feeling utterly exhausted.

"Thank you, Sir. Greg. For everything. For standing up for me today… It's meant a lot…" Phillip trailed off, weakly.

"Benjamin Phillip will be joining us momentarily. Stop fretting, Anderson, I know it seems sketchy at the moment but it's not, really. Relax. Don't make me order you," Greg said, forcing a smile.

"Benjamin Phillip," he laughed softly. "That was Sally's idea. I had another. If our little boy makes it, that is…"

"Oh, Phillip," Molly said, still in her wedding party attire. "Don't you DARE think like that. It's going to be fine. Your son and your bride will be FINE. Now Sally did mention your idea," she said, trying to distract him from his fretting. "Benjamin Gregory Phillip," Molly said, "or, was it Benjamin Phillip Gregory?"

"The latter, not the former," the forensics tech said, weakly. "Why won't they let me in? Even in an emergency situation, the father is generally allowed in…"

"Obvious, really," Sherlock said, as he strolled in, uninvited, though not necessarily unexpected.

"Anderson, your devotion to your bride and your child is… typically heart strong. As are they both." He sat next to Anderson, without word or explanation.

"He's NOT too early, nearly on time actually," Sherlock said, softly. "Her due date was bungled."


	50. Chapter 50 Badgering

"Bungled, you say?" Phillip said softly, as he held the tiny son Sally had just now shared with him.

"Yes, indeed," the consulting detective said. "Quite bungled. Some women carry a pregnancy less obviously, and Donovan is one of those women, apparently, and as you can see, your son is fully developed and healthy. I'm going to assume here that your GP is NOT John Watson?"

"No… why would it be?" the new father simply responded.

"A reasonable response," Sherlock said. "You may consider switching, then. Had John been your GP, he may have set you straight in plenty of time to prevent all of this drama." He gave a pointed look to first Sally, and then Phillip. "May I?" he asked, gently.

Ignoring the frown, Sherlock simply held his arms open to accept the newborn. "Now, Anderson," he said softly, as his tone shifted abruptly. "Your parents don't seem to understand this, but I do. You and I will simply have to set them straight. You see, your mother showed the signs of three far earlier than she and your father think she did." He looked up, smiling warmly, before turning back to the baby. "You're right on time… And now you've crashed their party, little one. Perhaps you might consider in the future to be more thoughtful before badgering?"


	51. Chapter 51 Bexley

"Lestrade, how much longer must I tolerate this… IDIOT Detective Sergeant?"

Greg rolled his eyes, in silent agreement. "Sherlock, EVERYONE in your view is an idiot. Sergeant Bexley, as you are WELL aware, is assigned to my team for the duration of Donovan's maternity leave. You could always occupy yourself with Gregson's cases, or Dimmock's, if my team no longer meets your lofty standards."

"Don't be ridiculous, Gregory," Sherlock replied, making a point to use Greg's actual given name, rather than one of his usual deliberately misfired monikers. "I only work with the best, which is why I tend to avoid those bloody dolts these days in favour of you. However, of late I may be reconsidering this," Sherlock sneered, as he glanced distastefully at Sally's temporary replacement.

"I'm sure my wife will be touched that you miss her so much," Anderson snickered, as Sherlock glared at him briefly. "In the meantime, we all must endure." With a subtle look to the consulting detective, he strolled towards him. "Between ourselves," he whispered, "Greg isn't terribly impressed with him either. I know for a FACT that he can't wait for Sally to return."

Sherlock stared at Anderson, a steady gaze of blue eyes on blue eyes. "Indeed," he finally conceded, with a crooked smile, as they heard Lestrade yelling, "Ahhh, damnit Bexley!"


End file.
